


Yutaba Prompt Collection

by Ryntaia



Category: Persona 5, persona - Fandom
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection, one shots, prompts, yutaba - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryntaia/pseuds/Ryntaia
Summary: A collection of one shot prompts from Tumblr for the ship Yusuke and Futaba. May contain minor supporting ships here and there.





	1. Viruses

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt-  
> Yutaba. She had no idea how he could have THAT many viruses on his laptop.

           Futaba stared blankly at the flashing screen before her.

           Never mind that the laptop in front of her had to be at least ten years out of date. Never mind that the monitor and the keyboard seemed to be barely held together with tape (painted over in extravagant patterns, of course). Never mind that the OS was something more fit to being in a computer science museum. All things considered, Futaba was more surprised that the laptop at her fingertips wasn’t falling apart and running on a nonexistent dial-up connection.

           No, what trumped that all was all of the viruses that had popped up.

           She had been forced to magic up a half-assed anti-virus program to work on Yusuke’s relic of a computer in the first place, but the redhead hadn’t expected to be faced with what had to be somewhere around one hundred computer viruses. The artist had been prodding her all month to do a check up on his computer because he was afraid something was wrong with it—right about now, Futaba was seriously regretting giving into his constant pushing.

           “Inari.” She finally said. The blue haired teen jerked up from his stiff cross-legged position on his dorm bed. “How in the world did you get this many computer viruses?”

           “Oh, so my computer is infected then?”

           “INFECT—Is it infected?! Are you kidding me?!” Futaba exploded, spinning around on the computer chair. Slapping her hand on her outstretched bare leg, teeth grinding together and glasses askew, she fixed the tall teen with what could only be called a look of pure malice. “You call this infected?! This isn’t infected! This is more like a hospital graveyard! You have around 110 separate viruses on your computer, not even counting the repeat instances floating around your hard drive!”

           “I was afraid of that.”

           “You gotta be kidding me. This has gotta be some elaborate prank…you’ve gotta be trolling.” Futaba rolled her backwards to let her head fall against the keyboard, hands gripping tightly against the armrests of the desk. “How did you manage to DO this? AND keep your computer from shutting down at the same time? This thing shouldn’t even running with how badly it’s infected.”

           “I’ve downloaded some programs.” Yusuke said unhelpfully. When met with Futaba’s frustrated glare, he shakily continued. “For digital art. One of my teachers loaned me a modern tablet to experiment with but I didn’t have a good program to use. So I tried a few download sites to get some programs.”

           “Which programs and what sites?”

           “Adobe Photoshop and Illustrator…and one that a fellow student recommended to me, SAI. She’s an extremely talented girl so I figured I should give this program of hers a try.” Yusuke beamed like he was proud of his idiocy. Futaba felt an odd stabbing in her stomach listening to the Inari pile praise onto this weird unknown classmate of his. She couldn’t be THAT special. “But I couldn’t find very many that didn’t require, what was it called…? A ‘crack’? So I was forced to download several separate instances of the program from many different sites. My classmate emailed me a copy of this ‘SAI’ program later on. It was nice, though I much prefer my brush.”

           “Oh my godddddd, Inaaaaari, are you kidding me…” Futaba groaned, massaging her eyelids with her hands under her glasses. “No wonder you have so many viruses, you probably got them from the Adobe illegal downloads. You have adware and spyware up the butt on this stupid thing.”

           “Adware? Spyware?” Yusuke seemed genuinely confused as to what she was talking about and she let out a long sigh.

           “Nevermind. I’m just gonna have to go full extreme here.” With a spin, the redhead faced back to the computer and lifted up her hands in almost predatory motion. A pink tongue whipped across her lips quickly as she pulled a hard drive out of her bag and began typing wildly. Yusuke attempted to peak over her shoulder but was only met with a smack in the side of the face. It wasn’t as if he could understand the loading files and progress bars anyhow. Slowly he found himself bored, lying against the wall and picking at a clean brush from his easel.

           “And done.”

           “Huh?” Yusuke jerked up at the sound of Futaba’s pleased voice. She was holding up a thin black hard drive, reflecting brightly in the afternoon sun that poured through the dorm room window shades. He cocked his head to the side, unsure of what was going on…until with a defiant smash, Futaba kicked his laptop off the desk. It went flying into the wall; the already fragile frame shattered under the pressure. Its owner looked on in horror and shock at the smug girl balancing on his desk with one foot deftly held out in the direction of the debris.

           “W-WHAT WAS THAT?! That was my only computer, all my personal files are on there! My scholarship applications…!” Yusuke was almost wailing. Futaba clicked her tongue and shook her head, shaking the thin black cassette in her hand again.

           “All that is right here. I can’t have one of my own kind working with a junker like THAT, even if you ARE poor and jobless.” She lowered her glasses, looking over to Yusuke with an almost devilish grin—as if she had intended to shock the boy out of his normally stoic and calm mannerisms. Knowing her, she probably had. “I have a few backup laptops in my room that I don’t use anymore. I’ll clear them out and put your files it. It’ll all be back by tomorrow so stop bellyaching.”

           “T-that…I…” Yusuke stuttered. Her actions had been extreme, and brutish, but her intentions…were surprisingly righteous. A voice in the back of his mind told him that really, he wouldn’t have it any other way no matter how much he bantered with the girl. She wouldn’t be nearly as fun and surprising if she was PREDICTABLE. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let her know that, but…well. “Thank you, Futaba.”

           “Hey, no problem, Inari.” Futaba hopped down from the desk to check her phone. “Akira’s gonna be picking me up soon so I’ll see you tomorrow. And, uh, one more good computer safety tip?”

           “Hmm…what?” Yusuke said, almost afraid of her answer.

           “Yeah, eheh, RedSex is a pretty virus laden hellhole. Get your porn somewhere else next time, okay?”

           He nearly passed out from the blood rushing to his face as the redhead girl laughed her way out the door.

 


	2. First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> Yutaba, first date.

           Perhaps, Yusuke mused, such a crowded place had not been a good idea.

           It had seemed like the right choice at the time. Futaba Sakura was very into those ‘sentai shows’ (of the super variety) so when the oddly titled  _Featherman Returns: The Ultimax Ultra Super Hold_  made its way into theaters, Yusuke had took the plunge and bought two tickets for a Saturday showing and asked the redhead along. He had no interest in such things, preferring arthouse films and the occasional ‘chick flick’ romance movie, but he had been dancing around the topic of asking Futaba out for too long now. And if it was cheesy super sentai that Futaba Sakura desired, then it was cheesy super sentai that she was going to get.

           …Or not based on the current state of affairs.

           Everything had SEEMED like it was going well until they had gotten into the theater itself, all cramped and full of kids with their exhausted parents carefully eying the older fans aside them. Hand on her closest shoulder, Yusuke could feel the girl stiffening up already at the stuffed area; he slid his hand down from her shoulder to her hand to squeeze her hand. She didn’t say anything, just pursed her lips tightly as her face flushed scarlet and her own hand squeezed back. They both knew this would be easier with the Sakura family ward here, but this was—loosely, admittedly—a date. Neither wanted a chaperone to make it more embarrassing.

           This was for them.

           Unfortunately, she had run out mere seconds after the lights dimmed.

           “Futaba…” He murmured, one arm hooking around her and drawing her into his chest and clearing her sight of the crowd. She was shivering a bit. “Futaba, are you going to be alright? We should lea—”

           “No! N-no.” She snapped, fingers curling into the blue fabric of his loose casual shirt. “I-I…I wanna do this. The date thing. Y-you want to, too…right? I ain’t ruining this with my weirdness.”

           “It’s not—”

           “Yes, it IS.” She was trying to stand, legs still shaky but expression stalwart. Yusuke watched her stumble a bit to get up, hooking an arm under hers when she nearly tripped getting up. “I got better at this, I swear I did! But, like, I mean, it was…so dark…and I couldn’t see…and they were all talking and talking and I couldn’t quite hear it and…”

            _You did it, you did it, you did it._

           God, it had only taken one offhanded statement unrelated to her to throw her off balance. Shame welled in her stomach. They weren’t even TALKING to her, they hadn’t even NOTICED her, and it had nothing to DO with her. But like a slingshot she had been hit with screaming memories of tormenting shadows haunting her conscious from every which way screaming about what she had thought was her crime. You did it, you, and its your fault, all your fault—

           “Don’t be ridiculous.”

           “Huh??”

           Futaba was thrown off as she was tucked under the artist’s arm and pushed away from the theater at an alarming rate. Those long legs were hard to keep up with—Yusuke’s stride alone keep her hopping along at a hurried pace. She looked back at the theater from the corner of her eye. The rest of the crowd had filtered back in as they had hurried away from the theater—soon, the Shibuya crowd had blocked the entrance out completely.

“Inari—” She tried without response. “Y-Yusuke?”

           Finally he stopped, turning almost dramatically on his heels to face the hacker. It was at times like this that Futaba Sakura felt very small. She had just turned fifteen and yet she only came up to this man’s chin; her neck had to crane slightly to look into his serious and dark eyes as he firmly held his hands against her slim shoulders. The odd amount of intimacy spread another awkward flush across her face as she looked to the side; her chin was gently directly to look back at him.

           “Futaba Sakura.” He began dramatically. She raised a brow—her body was still shaking slightly from the theater but he was acting really weird now. “Would you pleasure myself with a movie date…at the Sakura household?”

           “Wha—” Futaba felt a laugh rising in her throat. “Inari! What are you doing? We’re already on a date!”

           “Then we’re going to try again. I will not have this hurt you.” Yusuke declared, and the sincerity in his tone almost made the redhead want to turn tail and run out of sheer embarrassment. He was so EMBARRASSING sometimes. She couldn’t believe she was letting it get to her, either, as her fingers twiddled delicately together with her eyes directed downwards. “Will you go on a second first date with me?”

           It was so stupid that she had to laugh.

           “Jeez, Inari. Like you had to ask. I agreed to this one, didn’t I?”

           And as they walked away from the theater, tickets thrown carelessly in a trash can, Futaba latched her arms around Yusuke’s and rested her head on his shoulder. It made it a little hard to walk but right now, she couldn’t care less. Sure, she had wanted to see that movie. But there could be a thousand  _Featherman Returns: The Ultimax Ultra Super Hold_. There was only going to be one first date with Yusuke….even it was kinda going to be a first date that turned into a second date.

           But…

           “When the DVD comes out, I’m so getting it and making you watch it. Don’t think you got out of that one, Inari!”

           Yusuke mock groaned.


	3. Finding Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> The gang talking about yusuke following Ann, and Ann 'seducing' him for shits and giggles not knowing yutaba like each other / are sort of a thing?

 “Hey, are those for me?”

           Yusuke opened his closed eye and raised his head from the box formed by his thumbs and forefingers. The entire gang was staring at him with mixed expressions of amusement and annoyance—he could’ve sworn the blue eyed cat on Akira’s desk was fixing him with a death glare. His tail curled protectively around the arm of Ann Takamaki, who was resting against the desk the cat sat on with her free hand propped up on her side. Her sky blue eyes were filled with mirth as an amused smile played across red lips, eyebrows creased downwards.

           “Ah, Miss Takamaki.” Yusuke moved his hands away from his target to focus in on the blonde. Said target looked up from the corner of her eyes, fingers halting their movement on the keyboard of her laptop. “Is that an offer for modeling? I’ve always said that I’m open to capturing your beauty on canvas. I feel that perhaps an oil painting would fit your boldness?”

           “Geez, you’re so shameless!” Ann laughed, leaning back on the desk and throwing her blonde hair back over her shoulders.

           “An artist must be in the hope of a good model.”

           “Awww, Yusuke, do you think you could do me better than the magazines do? We’ve got some real professionals on my current photoshoot.” Ann teased, lips pursed out as she struck an overly dramatic pose. Ryuji leaned out from his seat to stare flagrantly at her back—moments later he was sent toppling to the ground as Morgana leapt from the desk to the back of the blonde teen’s chair. He muttered a few explicates as Ann laughed and jumped up to sit on the desktop.

           “I have no doubt that I could capture you far better than a few cameras could. No doubt, I admire the hard work of the artistic photographer…” Yusuke paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “…but they could never outdo the flourish of emotion from my paintbrush. After all, they take photographs to sell what you where, not to sell who you are. They lack the authentic feel that I could give to it with a sweep of this brush.”

           “Whooooh, whooh! Yusuke, you’re so sure of yourself!” Ann struck another dramatic pose, this time lying across the desk with the back of her head held in her hand. The other hand shot out dramatically as if beckoning some unknown force—that force apparently being Ryuji, who peeked back up over his fallen chair. Makoto shook her head and sighed, massaging her temple.

           “Of course I am. Why would I not be?”

           “Pfft, you egotist. Alright, draw me like one of zee French lay-deez!” Ann declared jokingly, layering her voice with a thick fake accent. Morgana jumped up next to her swiftly, eyes filled with alarm.

           “Lady Ann, do you even know what that means?!”

           “Well, uh, I mean…it means to paint me real nice? Like, make me look good like the French models?” Ann said uncertainly, sitting up and letting her hand run through her blonde hair. It seemed to fall through her fingers like silk. Morgana looked just about ready to cry, while Akira looked just about ready to burst out laughing. Even Makoto seemed to be holding back laughter.

           “It means drawing someone in an alluring pose. USUALLY naked.”

           “Huh?” Ann looked over at Futaba—the redhead had been atypically quiet throughout the entire conversation, especially considering it was peppered with opportunities to mock Yusuke. She was surprised to find that Futaba’s face looked irritated, almost…pink in tone. Her lower jaw was jutted out defiantly and her shoulders were hunched up. Ann waited for further from the redhead but the girl just went back to her laptop with her nose scrunched up. As if she suddenly didn’t LIKE Ann anymore. “U-uh, wow, really? Does it? I-I didn’t know that, sorry, I mean, I know that you wanted to do that back then, Yusuke—”

           “No need to apologize, I won’t be asking for such a thing again.” Yusuke said smoothly, snapping his sketchbook closed at the spine. The sulking redhead peered up over her computer screen a bit. “Do not worry, Ann, your sanctity is perfectly preserved from here on out.”

           “Pfft, what, do you respect her now that you hang out with her?” Ryuji scoffed. Yusuke simply slammed the side of his sketchbook against the blonde’s forehead. “Ow, hey, what the fuck, man?!”

           “Oh, stop whining, Ryuji, you deserved it.” Ann chuckled awkwardly. “But, I mean, really…what the heck, Yusuke? When we first met you wouldn’t stop bugging me about modeling for you. But lately you haven’t asked at all and now you’re saying that you’re not going to ask ever again? What gives? I mean, I appreciate not being bugged to model, uh…like a French girl…but did I mess up my lipstick or something? Whoa, don’t tell me this shade isn’t ‘aesthetically pleasing’ or something.”

           Yusuke repressed a snicker. “No, that shade is actually quite you. It fits the shade of your cheeks. I simply have lost interest in you as a muse. You’re still ceaselessly beautiful, don’t worry. Just ask Morgana or Ryuji.”

           “Pfft, Ryuji will pop it for anything with a cup size over B.” Ann tried to not sulk but it was hard—on one hand she had been trying to get him to stop for a while, but on the other hand it was hard to be rejected as a ‘muse’. There was something more flattering about being called a muse than just a standard model, after all. It implied so much inspiration. “What’s the loss of interest coming from, anyways? You still draw me sometimes, after all.”

           “Hmm.” Yusuke propped his fingers back up again, tracing the box shape across the room before it halted on the redhead at the computer. Futaba shuddered slightly as her face went bright red. She immediately hunched down further against the screen, with her nose almost brushing lightly against the bright screen to avoid the focus of the pair of fingers. The rest of the gang looked at her questioningly—except Akira, who shifted a knowing expression between the two.

           “Well? Futaba? You know?”

           Before she could say anything, Yusuke answered for her. “I found a new muse.”

           Futaba’s embarrassed screech could be heard from downstairs, where Sojiro simply straightened out his newspaper and sighed.

           Kids would be kids.


	4. Close Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> Things go south on a heist and Futaba feels powerless to stop it.

 

 

_Four shadows._

           Futaba’s hands circle around her within the darkened, glowing hold of Prometheus.

            _Nothing big._

           Her fingers clicked rapidly against the floating screens presented to her.

            _You can handle it._

           A bead of sweat ran down her cheek.

_I’ll be right here for you._

           “Super move!” Her tone was confident as her black gloves swiped effortlessly across the screens around her. The fighters below her stepped back a few feet, underneath the floating dome that analyzed them all. The shadows in front of them—a herd a massive white lions—yowled wildly in return. They were enraged and flowing with ceaseless power…but their defense was nice and low. She licked her lips. Nice and easy, but why not make it easier. “Ultra….charge!”

           Colorful lights burst around the Phantom Thieves; each felt a new energy about themselves. Futaba sat back in the seat of her control panel with a curt nod, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across her face. These low level punks didn’t stand a chance against her super charged thieves. She watched cheerfully as each of them slammed into the lion shadows; they had the audacity to still stand after the flurry of blows. It was a pointless effort. One more hit and…

           He missed.

           He freaking  _missed._

           Futaba slammed forward to the main screen inside Prometheus. Her legs dangled precariously behind her as she stared at the Thieves and the shadows. Stupid Inari had missed and now ALL the shadows were zeroing their attention in on him, full of malicious rage filled energy. Without a second thought she clicked through her options as the others set themselves up to guard against attacks.

           It wasn’t fast enough—a blazing heat from one of the white lions knocked Yusuke forward against the ground. “Fox! He’s down! Ooh, this isn’t good, this isn’t good at all!”

           Her attention thrown off, the second lion launched another fiery breath at the fallen artist—confusion reflected in Yusuke’s eyes as he toppled again, blinking rapidly as if he were dizzy. Futaba’s mind was clouding fast, her hands limp on the screens of light presented in front of her. There were so many options that it felt like there were none…because any one of them could be the exact wrong choice.

            _I can hear it._

_I can hear your breathing. It’s so heavy. Oh God._

           Her eyes widened, sweat ran down her face, her fingers hovering about the screens trying to decide what to do.

            _One more hit and he’s…_

_He’s…_

           The third lion reared its ugly head, mouth fuming with the bright red flames that licked at its teeth. Laying across the ground, beaten and battered, Yusuke let out a small groan, unaware to the fierce and murderous gaze he was being fixed with. It was right at that point that Futaba felt herself snap, a fury rising inside her that told her one thing and one thing only.

            _Defend._

           “NO! LOOK OUT!” Her voice echoed across the halls of Mementos, throwing even the lions off as a green light circled around the Phantom Thieves. Yusuke’s eyes seemed to be brought back to awareness by the neon brightness staring him right in the eye, looking up at the lions resentfully as their fire billowed around him. It couldn’t make a single scratch on the surface of the bright neon light surrounding the young artist, and even though the light faded down moments later, he was back on the offensive. A blast of freezing ice slammed across the entire group of shadows, knocking them all down at once.

           “H-huh?!” Futaba snapped to attention, watching as the shimmer of green died out below her. “Oh! Beat ‘em up, guys!”

           And with a series of quick punches, kicks, and slices from the Thieves, the shadows collapsed into themselves. Joker patted Yusuke on the back reassuringly and Futaba let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. She was surprised to find that she was smiling to herself. It quickly morphed into a frown and she pressed into the intercom of Prometheus.

           “Fox, I’m switching you out of the main front line for Panther.”

           “What? That’s absurd.” He shook his head and laughed—a cracked laugh that revealed the pain he was feeling. His teammates exchanged worried looks. “I’m perfectly fine. I certainly can’t falter.”

           A loud buzzing seemed to emerge from the floating black dome above them, as if the hacker within had slammed her hands on the controls or something. “Y-you were one hit off from dying, Inari! Don’t argue with me about this, I can see each and every one of your conditions! I….if you don’t listen, I’ll pull you right OUT of Mementos instead of off the front line! You hear me?!”

           Yusuke was silent, casting a pleading gaze over to Joker—their leader was having none of it. He shook his head in agreement with Futaba. The artist groaned in irritation, his ego clearly bruised as he stepped back to switch placed with Ann Takamaki. Deep within the core of Prometheus, Futaba Sakura let out a gasp of air that felt like it had been inside her forever as they went to trek forward.

_I almost lost you, stupid Inari._

 


	5. Sayuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> Yutaba idea for you! Write about them taking about their moms, pls? Thank you and have a wonderful day!

 

          She saw it every day that she walked into Leblanc.

           The first time, the painting had confused it. It was like a bootleg toy. Futaba had seen pictures of the infamous  _Sayuri_  painting online. Forums loved to post it as a piece of classic art, and she had seen various parodies of it online. But the painting that hung in Leblanc was not like that classic piece of art that permeated popular culture. It did not hold mystery but rather affection. Sweet motherly concern as the slim and beautiful woman held a baby in her arms with reverence in her loving eyes. It was so confusing—this was a side of the  _Sayuri_  that forums and online galleries had not shown to Futaba ever before.

           When she asked Sojiro about it, he had shrugged and said it was a gift from one of Akira’s friends. When she asked Akira about it, he said it wasn’t his place to tell Futaba about the truth of  _Sayuri_. When she pressed, the quiet leader of the Phantom Thieves simply told her to talk to Yusuke about it. Yusuke! Of all people, it just HAD to be the Inari who had the answer. She knew that the boy was a painter, and that he probably had a comprehensive knowledge of art history, but dear lord was he annoying. All he cared about was his stupid aesthetics. It was so annoying.

           So she didn’t ask.

           But Akira never took no for an answer.

           It was a hot summer afternoon in Leblanc as Futaba sat curled up in the booth seat closest to the painting. Her eyes flitted between the painting and the iced coffee nestled between her fingers, fingers wet with the perspiration from the cup. It was a beautiful painting but somehow it made her feel a bit… _uncomfortable_  at times. There was an intimacy in the painting on the wall that wasn’t in the previous versions she had seen of  _Sayuri_. Sometimes she felt almost like she was voyeuristically peering in on the love between the mother and her child.

           It wasn’t a look she knew personally.

_She loved you, Futaba._

           Futaba shook the conflicting thoughts out of her head, taking a deep swig of the coffee in her hands. From behind the counter, Sojiro gave her a speculative look, but said nothing—he was busy preparing another iced coffee for a rather pompous looking customer. He looked up as the door opened with a sweet ring from the bell; they weren’t getting many customers due to the hot weather, so anyone coming in was a good chance to improve the often lingering profits during the season. The elder man’s face fell into one of annoyance as he realized who it was, turning back to his task at hand.

           Futaba peeked over her shoulder and snickered to herself slightly. Of course Sojiro made such a face. Yusuke Kitagawa, the man of aesthetics, the Inari, the starving artist who never had a penny to spare. Sometimes she wondered why her guardian even let the guy into Leblanc. Every time he came he either ordered nothing or let someone else order him a drink. There were very few occasions in which the Inari came around a café without a friend in tow. Then again, there were very few cafés that he could afford in general.

           Whenever he did come without someone he would just stand there near the door, staring at the painting against the wall. Futaba sighed. What an enthusiast. She supposed she couldn’t down on him for having so much dedication to his craft and to the painting in question. After all, she hadn’t been monitoring the Phantom Thieves too closely during the Madarame crisis, but she had caught that the  _Sayuri_  painting meant something of great importance to him. As it would to any training artist, she guessed, especially to the pupil of the man who had claimed to originally paint it.

           Today, though, she was surprised to see that he was alone and yet didn’t cast a single glance at the classic painting. Instead his intense eyes focused in on her. Almost embarrassed, Futaba shuffled to turn around and stare down into the rich coffee and ice chunks in her cup. It didn’t help evade him—he was quickly sitting across from the redhead hacker, gently placing a plastic case down on the table. Futaba’s eyebrow quirked a bit. It looked like it was full of wet brushes. He must’ve come right from one of his classes or…

           “I just came from a life drawing session. If that’s what you’re wondering.” Yusuke stated, noting her careful eyes. Futaba’s eyes immediately directed back down to the iced coffee; he let out a chuckle that was as rich as the brew. The redhead flushed and bowed her head, lip jutting out slightly, pushing back the thoughts of how nice a laugh the artist had and how he really should laugh more. Her lips pursed in annoyance.

           “So what are you doing here, then, Inari?” Now it was Yusuke’s turn to look annoyed. He had never gotten used to that nickname and it seemed like he never would. “Don’t you got like, I dunno, some nude chick painting to put your ‘finishing touches’ on?”

           If the innuendo was not lost on Yusuke, he did not let it show. “Not currently. The models at the life drawing session are underwhelming, to say the least. They don’t capture the pure essence of something like, say…Sayuri.”

           Futaba went rigid, eyes slowly travelling across the table and up the fox’s body until she met eyes with the tall teen. His face was tinted with what almost looked like amusement, as if he had caught her or something. She sighed, letting her thin shoulders relax and slope downwards, knees collapsing against the leather booth seats as she rested into crossed legs.

           “He told you about what I said? About  _Sayuri_?” She mused then paused, extending a finger to point behind her shoulder. “Uh, THAT  _Sayuri_?”

           “Hmm. He said you expressed an interest in the, ah…anomalies of the painting.” Yusuke said as delicately as he could. Futaba groaned. She cared a lot about the odd new family member at Leblanc but somehow, Akira always managed to get things to go the way he wanted—she didn’t even know why she had bothered to resist his suggestions. It had been so annoying at first but at this point she had figured out that it was inevitable. The quiet leader had to have sent Yusuke over to Leblanc while he wasn’t there—Akira was out at a part time job right now.

           So Futaba really had nowhere to duck away to. Akira had taken to locking the attic while he wasn’t there and Sojiro obviously wasn’t going to be of any help. He was having a quiet discussion with the pompous customer. They had retreated back to the small kitchen to the side. Undoubtedly forcefully dragged into a conversation, she figured, but one couldn’t be rude to their customers.

           Really, she knew all her thinking was just dodging the point. She didn’t even know why she was so uncomfortable asking about the painting. Well, she WAS, since the painting made her feel…awkward, and weird, and out of place, but she didn’t want to ADMIT that to anyone. Least of all Yusuke Kitagawa. It seemed like her choices had been limited, though.

           “I’ve seen  _Sayuri_ online a lot. It’s a really popular painting. It’s even been parodied a lot on some of the forums I used to go to.” Futaba bundled herself back towards her chest again, resting her elbow on the space between her legs and her stomach. “I’ve never seen a Sayuri like this, though. People on the forums were always talking about how her gaze was mysterious or something…but in that painting, there’s something to gaze at. There’s a BABY. And I…where did Sojiro get this? It has something to do with Madarame’s….uh, cognition, right?”

           “I gave it to Akira. He decided to hang it in Leblanc so I could come see it anytime. It was…Madarame’s treasure.” Yusuke’s smile faltered, his eyes clouding over darkly. Futaba cocked her head to the side. “My…my mother painted it. It was a self portrait she did right before she died.”

           Oh.

            _Oh._

She almost got whiplash with how fast she turned around to stare over the booth at the beautiful woman and her baby. “So that baby is…”

           “Yes.”

           “Did you…?”

           “I don’t remember her, no. But I always was drawn to this painting.” The fond honesty in Yusuke’s eyes was honestly quite astounding; Futaba had not seen that kind of honesty in anyone outside of her family. It was a tender feeling expressed in its full, with no bars held, as he gazed at the long dried paints laid by a woman long past gone. And she couldn’t even find a way to question it; not with the adoration that reflected back at the boy in the eyes of the painted mother. It was a maternal love caught in time and impossible to see as anything else.

           Futaba’s gaze found the floor.

           “…She seems like a great mom.” She mumbled slightly, sliding out of the booth to turn away from the tall teen. Yusuke studied her back contemplatively; the dejected slope of her shoulders, the fingers clasped painfully together, the slightest hint of her profile that told him she was biting her lip. He hummed to himself and tapped his finger against the table, not responding to her statement as she began to hobble towards the door without a word.

           “Wakaba was a great mother in her own way as well, Futaba.”

           The result was instantaneous. The redhead’s body jerked upwards, her arms circling around to her chest as she turned towards him with wide and worried brown eyes. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she COULD say. It wasn’t like she could say that Yusuke didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, because of COURSE he did, he had been right into the tomb of her mind where she kept her deepest fears of her mother. Even after crumbling that disaster of a Palace, Futaba couldn’t help but be nagged by concerns about her mother now and then.

 _Maybe_ , she thought,  _maybe that’s why I can’t stop looking at that Sayuri. Because I see a mother in that picture who…_

           “My mother was a physically weak woman but she had enough love to make her paint express it. I didn’t know her long but I do know that. She was full of love.” Yusuke was looking past Futaba now, at the painting on the wall. “I didn’t always know that, though. I was only a baby, after all, so I couldn’t even recognize her face in the painting when it was shown to me. And Madarame altered it to keep anyone from ever knowing, to create a mystery. And maybe to the public, that was truly intriguing. But I suppose that to me, to that baby, what she actually made means so much more. Because that’s the love that I could never truly realize she had, the love I couldn’t ever touch with her.”

           “I…Yusuke, I mean…”

           He gave her a broad smile. “Your mother was no painter. But she was a scientist, was she not? A busy woman.”

           “My…memories of her are kind of fuzzy.” Futaba admitted. She couldn’t even figure out why she was telling him this. Maybe it was the sincerity of his words, or maybe it was the honesty of his eyes. “She didn’t have time for me very much. It was rough for her…but I guess you know that. But I…”

           She trailed off. Her eyes latched back onto  _Sayuri_.

           “Futaba.”

           “Hmm?”

           “Everything that Sayuri feels for that baby, your mother felt for you as well. You do not have to look at  _Sayuri_  and question that.”

           The hacker stared, open mouthed, at the artist sitting in the booth. Moments later pinpricks of tears burned at her eyes, face scrunching up as her body seemed to cave into itself. She couldn’t even see through the blurry tears, tearing off her glasses to wipe furiously at the chaffing flesh of her cheeks. She had lied to herself looking at that painting. She had told herself that it made her feel uncomfortable to look into the life and love of another but really… _Sayuri_ had just made her sad, made her insecure, made her wonder if her mother had ever looked at her like Sayuri looked at her precious baby. A question she never needed to ask. A question already answered.

           Futaba jolted slightly when she felt arms around her, drawing her into the tall teen’s crisp white uniform shirt. Yusuke had linked his arms underneath hers, drawing the young hacker girl close to him. Her shock quickly washed away as she let out another weak sob, burying her face into Yusuke’s chest as he cradled her. Like a precious thing, like a child, like the way her mother cradled her as a child. Like the love that she had felt from Wakaba but had been tricked into forgetting by criminals and by time itself. She let her tears out there and then, letting it slide that she was almost sure she saw the artist wipe away a few of his own tears.

           And somehow that was all okay. Somehow, when she looked at  _Sayuri_  out of the corner of her blurry eyes, the presence of the woman and her baby felt less invasive and more charming and close.

            _In the eyes of Sayuri is the adoration of a caring mother._

_A mother like your own._


	6. Video Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> I just want to read about Futaba losing to a game to Yusuke and getting salty about it. It could be any game of your choosing, or you can make one up! Hope your day/evening is going well!

   “You’re cheating, Inari.”

           Yusuke lowered the Playstation controller to fix the redhead with an annoyed look. “I am not.”

           “You are too.” Futaba whined, expertly mashing out another combo on her keypad only to have it interrupted halfway through by a low kick. Her head fell forward dramatically as the pink haired pop star on screen fell backwards, landing inelegantly in front of the French butler woman. “Why’d you’d pick King, anyways? Guys usually pick guys, at least from my online experiences.”

           “She has a unique, aesthetic beauty. I couldn’t ignore such a thing.”

           “Of course. Why even ask?” Futaba also groaned, but instead fell backwards on her tailbone as she maneuvered to avoid another kick. She let out an annoyed screech as Yusuke lazily punched in another combo. Onscreen, the ‘aesthetic beauty’ unleashed all hell on Athena Asamiya, the screen slowing down before she hit the ground. A rose quickly followed, the winning character posing dramatically. “Ugh! Are you kidding me?! Have you played this game before?! You told me you hadn’t played this game before!!”

           “I generally don’t play games as a whole.”

           “Wh—”

           “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this machine before…” Yusuke commented flippantly, nudging the aging Playstation console with his foot. “They always seemed superfluous. It’s rather fun, though, I admit.”

           “Fun? You just beat me three times in a row in a game you’ve never played, on a console you’ve never used!” Futaba had a hard time concealing her disbelief and flat out annoyance. She’d played video games since she was a little girl. She considered herself an expert in many a genre, and a master of two player destruction. She even went by a special codename on some of the online fighting servers—Armageddon. Everyone on the circuit knew not to screw with Armageddon if you got matched up with her.

           Yet here she was, her entire team beaten by only one character controlled by a button mashing, stick twiddling first timer who might as well be whistling a happy tune.

           Unacceptable.

           “Yes, that’s part of the fun.” Yusuke said smoothly, almost slyly, as he laid down his controller on his lap and peered at her from the corner of his eye. The screen reflected off his face, reflected his smug grin. “Beating you three times at your own game has been very rewarding.”

           She halted.

            _UNACCEPTABLE._

           “That’s it, Inari, your ass is going down.” Futaba almost growled as the character select screen blared back to life. Yusuke chuckled loosely and picked his controller back up as the redhead furiously flipped through the characters. Her opponent’s choices were slower, more calculated—though Futaba had the feeling that he was making his choices visually, not based on any sort of calculated plan.

            Maybe it was a good strategy, too, because he somehow managed to win the next four matches with the hacker.

           Futaba dropped her controller in dismay, staring at the flashing ‘Player 2 Wins’ screen as the rose fell down on her team again. Her head fell; how could one single player get so lucky so many times? It was just impossible! It didn’t help, really, that the King of Fighter games had been her favorite fighting games since she was a kid. She had just pulled one out randomly but she had a sizeable, enviable collection of the series. And yet here she was defeated by someone who had never played any of them before…what a disgrace.

           “She’s got such style. The rose is elegant, and the waiter uniform is complementary. If this ‘King’ woman was real then I most definitely would desire her services as a model.” Yusuke commented briskly; Futaba paused. He was doing that weird thing with his fingers again…except to the people on the television screen. “I think a nice rose red would suit fine…maybe a full red palette? She seems to like roses, but then again, those come in many different shades…”

           “…Are you talking about drawing FAN ART?” Futaba asked, grin suddenly forming across her face. Yusuke paused for a moment, looking at her blankly before a slight flush spread across his face. “Inari! Do you do FAN ART? And you didn’t tell me! That’s no good!”

           “I…it’s just…practice?”

           “Oh suuuure, I’m sure! You’re gonna draw Miss King, and Miss Athena, and Miss Mai once you get home, aren’t you?” Futaba teased, making kissy sounds as she lightly shoving the artist’s arm. “Perverted Inari. I told you I’d give you a basic course on doujinshi but you probably already know what that is.”

           “The, ah, the art is…nice…”

           “Hahaha! Oh MAN! Inari, you are something else. Tell you what.” She rattled her controller in front of Yusuke’s red face, tucking one strand of red hair behind her ear and giving him a devious grin. “Final round for my silence. If I win, I’m telling EVERYONE what you’ve been up to.”

           “You wouldn’t dare.”

           “You wanna bet?” Futaba stuck her tongue out. “If you don’t take the challenge then I’m telling anyone anyways.”

           “You wouldn’t dare!”

           And minutes later, the last of the flustered artist’s characters crashed to the ground with a shriek. It way okay, she thought, because a few more rounds for the Inari’s dignity wouldn’t hurt. After all, she had lost a few times, but this…this was a lot more fun than playing with faceless strangers on the connect web. It was fun to see his flustered face, even fun to see his victorious face. There was just something so much better right here, right now, about playing this stupid game with this stupid guy.

           He was still gonna have to draw her a nice one of Ash Crimson to buy her silence completely, though.

 


	7. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> Confessing/getting together.

    ‘People skills’ and ‘Futaba Sakura’ didn’t exactly go hand in hand. She had learned over the years that people found her behavior off-putting, but more often than not found it of no interest. If they couldn’t take her as she was, then they simply weren’t meant to be around each other. At least, that was Futaba’s general take on it all. Akira had laughed, somewhat nervously, when she had said to him that she didn’t care what other people thought about her brash mannerisms. The ex-con teenager hadn’t explained any further than that – he told the redhead that she would figure out in time that it wasn’t always best to say what was on her mind all the time.

           She hadn’t believed him at first, but she had a bad feeling that she was starting to get the idea of what he meant.

           It had all started with Yusuke Kitagawa. Really, what didn’t? The youthful artistic prodigy was a trouble magnet. He was just as brutally honest as the young hacker, a bad trait to compile with the fact that he was just a little bit odd himself. Well, okay, a lot bit odd. Futaba could swear that Yusuke Kitagawa could walk into oncoming traffic for the sake of his art and still find a way to reprimand the car about to hit him for it. Simply put nothing interrupted the train of determination that he rode. It could be both absolutely infuriating and absolutely endearing at the same time.

           Like how he rearranged her precious action figures.

           Like how he so willingly took over talking to the team about Sae’s computer, knowing she wasn’t really good at speaking to groups yet.

           Like how he kept those delicious lobsters away from her.

            Like how he went out of his way to pick her up at Sojiro’s house for the meetings in Shibuya Station.

           Annoying.

           Endearing.

            _Cute._

           No matter how aggravating it was, Futaba had to admit it: Yusuke’s eccentricities may have been annoying, but they were charming in their own way. The artist clearly cared about the people around him and was willing to go out of his way when they truly were in peril. And as soon as she had noticed that it was all over. She had lost the jackpot bit by little bit as she couldn’t help but notice more and more things about Yusuke that were contagiously _likeable_.

           His genuine lack of shame in the face of what he loved to do, his dedication to what he considered precious, the way that his smile was so slight as if he was embarrassed by his own elation. Yusuke Kitagawa had all these charming little traits that, after awhile, Futaba Sakura realized had actually charmed HER. She hadn’t ever considered the possibility of being charmed by anyone – the idea of ‘crushes’ hadn’t been in her mind since her mother’s death. All she could remember about them was a vague crush she had in elementary school that had resulted in mud being flung, and her ongoing affection for the heroic Featherman.

           Right then and there, though, was where Akira’s words came right back around to smack her in the face. Futaba Sakura was brash and honest, even if it was occasionally at the expense of other’s feelings. Traits that had made her…somewhat unapproachable. Certainly, after the Yaldabaoth incident, she stayed friends with the Phantom Thieves…but she had struggled with making friends outside of them and Kana. Taking the jump from making friends to confessing crushes…that just felt too big for her. It was like an unfair burden had been heaped right on top of her shoulders.

           Stupid Inari. It was all his fault, as usual.

           She had considered just ignoring it, but that wasn’t what her time with the Phantom Thieves had taught her. Futaba knew that just letting it boil under the surface could only cause it to get worse. SOMEONE was going to notice the painfully red faces she had been displaying lately around Yusuke, after all. Still, as she thought back on the whole calamity, going to the other girls had probably not been the best solution she could’ve come up with.

            _I should’ve just called Akira._  Futaba thought sourly. She were standing up on the bed in the attic as Haru delicately hemmed the white dress around her ankles. Ann was giggling to Makoto, who looked a little bemused, as they went through various hairpieces – including but not limited to an embarrassingly broad sunhat with a sunflower on the tie. Ann seemed dead set on adding it to her white dress ensemble, no matter how much Makoto argued that it was too much. Futaba resisted a groan; at least Haru was just quietly humming to herself as she hemmed, ignoring the two girls and their discussion.

           “Hey, uh, Haru…” Futaba began; the fluffy haired girl paused, looking up at her with those wide and friendly eyes. It was hard to say no to those eyes…it had been how Futaba had got here in the first place. By telling the other girls about her situation and then letting them handle it because of Haru’s puppy dog eyes. Aptly named, as staring into them was like being dared to kick a newborn puppy.

           “Yes, Futaba? Is something wrong?” Haru asked sweetly. It was like the shine in her eyes got brighter with every word. She was loving being so helpful, that was obvious. Though based on what Akira had told Futaba about Haru’s choice in movies, she wondered if needles should be in the cute girl’s hands. With a groan, the hacker shook her head and slumped downwards obediently.

           “Nothing, it’s nothing, just keep doing it…” Futaba said dejectedly. Haru giggled knowingly, snapping off the thread with her teeth.

           “We all get how you feel, Futaba. It’s hard, confessing those kinds of feelings.” She said, patting the side of the hacker’s leg. “None of this is probably going to mean anything, I admit, but you may as well humor them.”

           “Uh…huh…” Futaba pull the hemmed skirt up; Ann and Makoto looked over in confusion at the girl’s exposed legs and panties. “You’re really good at this, Haru. Did you take a class or something? I tried to learn how to sew from a guide online but it was no good. My costumes never came out right. I mean, starting on Touhou uniforms may have been a bit of a stretch, but still…”

           “What’s a Touhou…” Haru began to ask, before the door to the attic door slammed open.

           “Sojiro told me that you girls were up here. Yusuke won some sweet bean buns, and I caught him before he could hog…them…” Ryuji trailed off, the dark haired artist behind him looking up from his magazine curiously. Ann and Makoto stared back, the former with eyes full of curiosity and the latter looking absolutely mortified. Haru turned from the chair where she sat admiring her handwork, Futaba’s dress pulled up with her undergarments fully exposed.

           For a moment, they all just stared at each other. Then it came, welling at the back of the redhead’s throat. In retrospect of the action, Futaba liked to shove it off as the result of pure panic. An example, one could say, of fight or flight reflex in action. Whichever it was, though, it came roaring out, and it came roaring out like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

           “HEY! INARI! Y-YUSUKE KITIGAWA!” She screeched, not even bothering to drop her dress. What was the point? They’d both seen her little strawberry covered panties anyways. “I LI-LI-LIKE YOU…A LOT! DO…do, uh…do you want…uh…do you want to go on…”

           It was a moment of temporary bravado.

           Then she toppled back onto the dusty bed, grabbed the thick blanket, and wrapped herself in it with an embarrassed screech. She could hear the girls around her hurrying about. Haru patted her shoulder gently while Ann loudly screamed profanities about how Ryuji should KNOCK first before entering a lady’s room. The response was Ryuji yelling back about how it WASN’T a lady’s room and they were just borrowing it and how was HE supposed to know what was going on and  _oh man he was so LOUD_.

From underneath the thick fabric, it was difficult to hear Makoto’s angry but quiet lecture—but Futaba couldn’t hear much of anything right now with the blood pounding angrily in her ears. She knew this would go wrong but she never expected it to go THIS wrong, with Haru leaving her side presumably to help keep Ann from beating Ryuji to a pulp. Futaba swallowed thickly, burying herself deeper into the blankets as the roar of frustration mellowed down (aside from the sounds of Ann dragging Ryuji out of the room by his ear).

A thin hand burrowed past the wall of blankets. Futaba flinched as she was almost pulled back into the light of the attic. Looking around, she realized that Ryuji and the girls had gone—Yusuke now sat calmly in the seat previously occupied by Haru with his hands buried in the cocoon of blankets that Futaba had so expertly crafted to hide in. She sunk deeper into the pile until only her eyes were visibly, glaring at the tall teen with a prominent blush peppering her face.

“…D-do, uh, do you wanna maybe go on a date sometime? I l-l-like movies.” She finally managed. This was actually a lot easier without everyone around…but still humiliating. Futaba’s face nearly matched her hair color at this point. She didn’t think it could get worse, but then…

           Oh, then he smiled, that warm and rare smile as he strung his thin fingers through her hair.

           “A movie would be nice, Futaba.”

           “…Thanks, Inari.”

           And just before she could settle into satisfaction and get away from that embarrassment, he spoke up one more time:

           “I like you a lot too, Futaba.”

           And there she went again, face burst back into heat.

           Affection was so tough sometimes.

 


	8. Squeezing With Your Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> May I request a Yutaba one that includes this quote from the (hilarious) show Arrested Development? "Why are you squeezing me with your body?" "It's a hug. I'm hugging you."

 

There were arms looping under hers, fingers linked together at her back, and a slight pressure from the appendages around her.  

Futaba’s first instinct was to punch Yusuke.

           Thankfully, she managed to repress that instinct as her own arms hung loosely in the air beside his. Her body felt frozen in place as she stood in front of her fellow thief. He was seated firmly on her bed with his arms circled around the small of her back. The hacker wasn’t quite sure what to do, or what he thought he was doing, or if she was expected to do anything back. It wasn’t as if the artist seemed to mind at all, anyways; he just let out a thoughtful hum into her shoulder, face buried in the mountains of red hair. Hesitantly, Futaba placed her hands on his shoulders—her grip was firm, almost painfully tight.

           His eyes peeked open slowly, cheek turning against the mop of hair he had hidden himself away in. “Is something wrong?”

           “Uh…”

           “Am I hurting you?” The slight tinge of worry in his voice stabbed at her heart, even moreso as his fingers loosened behind her back. She slipped her hands down his shoulders to his forearms, holding Yusuke tightly in place. If it bothered him, he didn’t let it be known. He just let his question hang in the air.

           “What, uh…what are you doing?”

           “Sorry?”

           “Why are you squeezing me with your body?” She blurted out, embarrassed and humiliated the second it came out. It wasn’t exactly the most eloquent way to summarize the situation but Futaba had always been cursed with a tendency to say what she thought. Sometimes it gained her a good laugh, sometimes…sometimes it resulted in where she sat right now, red faced and wishing she had no mouth. She couldn’t even see his face and yet she could almost visualize the stupid face Yusuke was probably making.

Even worse was that it wasn’t as if Futaba didn’t know what a hug was. She just didn’t know why the Inari, of all people, was hugging her. She hadn’t been hugged in a while and the last person she expected to break that long held trend was Yusuke. He wasn’t always the touchiest, after all, and he always seemed to argue with her—even though, if she was entirely honest with herself, their banter had always been joking at its worst. But still…he could do the most embarrassing things sometimes…

           “It’s a hug. I’m hugging you.”

           Ugh. Her point proven.

           “I think you might’ve missed my point, Inari.” Futaba said tersely, still keeping her hands firm on his arms. She was confused, maybe, but for some reason she didn’t really want this hug to end. It felt oddly nice, Yusuke was warm, and it had been thoughtful of him to pick her up and drop her off from the meeting of the Phantom Thieves. Overall it was nice just BEING with him sometimes, no matter how much he messed up. No matter how he could test the patience of anyone.

           “What’s your point?”

           …Even if his ability to test the patience of anyone stems mostly from, well, a point blank lack of understanding.

           “My point is why you’re hugging…me.” Futaba surprised herself; with all the wild pent up thoughts circling around her head, her words came out shockingly calm. No shouts or screams or anything. Even her tight grasp had relaxed somewhat, her head lolling to the side to side against his dark hair. It felt nice, almost like a pair of puzzle pieces clicking together—satisfactory and triumphant. She could feel a roll of warm chuckles emerging from the artist holding her as his loosened grip became tight once more, holding the young hacker to his body as his nose nestled against her neck.

           “I believe, Miss Sakura, that you may not be giving yourself enough credit. I would imagine plenty of people would want to hug you.” His voice was soft, yet there was a slight bit of jest to his words. “You’re a little obnoxious at times but that doesn’t mean that no one wants you.”

           “…Inar…Yusuke.” Futaba slowly found her arms working against her will, arms circling around the other. Her fingers pressed down lightly, carefully, nervously as she brought him closer to her breast. She was surprised to feel a slight smile breeching through the concern mirrored on her face. “Right back at you.”

           They stayed there for a bit, quiet, just hugging each other. And for that short while it was nice to rest her arms on his shoulders, to rest her head against his, to feel his warmth against hers. In that instance it was just nice to be with Yusuke Kitagawa, sharing a moment just for him and just for her.

           She’d tattle on him to Akira tomorrow, anyways.

 


	9. Valentine's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> Yutaba: a bit after Valentine's Day, he takes her around where he lives and they come across the girls that tried to give him chocolate.

 

            **Fox:**   _Could you do me a favor?_

**Oracle:** _What, do you need your computer debugged again_

**Oracle:** _I swear if it has over 100 viruses again then I’m tossing it out_

**Fox:** _Nothing of the sort. I was wondering if you could meet me at the Kosei Dorms tomorrow._

**Oracle:** _…What for_

**Fox:** _I need a favor. I’ll tell you more tomorrow._ ****

**Oracle:** _…Fine, whatever, but if this is about your computer then I swear_

           The redhead swiped the message bar closed with a sigh, ruffling up the sides of her coat a bit to sink into the fur and leather. It was cold in February. She figured that the poor choice of jean shorts was probably not helping the whole scenario, but Futaba hadn’t been planning to go out today anyways. Couldn’t stand Valentine’s Day, really, with all the people acting all WEIRD everywhere. Even after she had been taken out of her ‘tomb’ she couldn’t help but be annoyed by these excessive displays of affection. The only perk, she supposed, was discount chocolate afterwards.

           She sighed in annoyance, glancing at the clock on her phone again. To top all of it off, the Inari was late. She didn’t know why he had dragged her out here today anyways. Somehow, annoying a girl on Valentine’s Day seemed more like a task that Yusuke would throw onto Ann’s shoulders. Then again, Ann probably had enough on her shoulders with Ryuji’s gritty ass chocolate. He had bugged the Sakura family forever to use the Leblanc kitchen to make a good chocolate for this stupid day, then vehemently denied it was for the other blonde.

           It almost made Futaba giggle viciously. Like the dumb cat face he had tried to carve into the chocolate hadn’t given him away. Just like her mask.

           “Yusuke, what do you think? I made my chocolate look very unique! Do you like the curving shape? Its yours if you want it!”

           “Unique doesn’t mean good, stupid! Look, Yusuke, this one is very detailed. I made the cookie cutters myself.”

           “Cookies are so yesterday, Mayu! Yusuke, I made a cake. It’s all glazed over and everything. The edges are rounded by chocolate Pocari! I heard you really liked those so I went and picked some up for Akihabara for my cake. It was worth every penny!”

           “You’re so petty, Emi!”

           “Leave me alone, Keiko! I put a lot of love into Yusuke’s cake!”

           Futaba looked up in confusion at the mass of girls arriving—a swarm of Kosei students, all female aside from the tall boy that stood out in the middle of them all. Yusuke Kitagawa. He looked remarkably frustrated, one hand rubbing against the side of his head as the girls around him argued with each other. It didn’t seem like a single one of their words was really registering with him. Just sort of…frustrating him.

           It seemed to surprisingly melt away when he noticed Futaba standing aside the dorm building. She quirked her eyebrow. Now THAT was unusual. Yusuke usually wasn’t happy to see her or her quips for him. He didn’t exactly seem to hate it but she had never been much of an icebreaker with him. Now, he was rushing towards her with surprising desperation.

           “Futaba, thank goodness you came.” He said. His voice sounded absolutely exhausted; the girls around him were zeroing in on the redhead with a surprising ferocity. She noticed each of them did, in fact, seem to be carrying the extraordinary desserts that she had overheard them talking about. One girl was carrying what looked to be a three tier chocolate cake rounded by thick chocolate sticks—delicious Pocari. Her mouth watered just looking at it; it took her a few seconds to realize Yusuke was still talking to her and that the expressions on the girl’s faces had darkened even further.

           “Huh? You say something, Inari?” She asked absentmindedly.

           “I asked you if you wanted any of these chocolates. I fully appreciate them, of course…” Yusuke said hastily as discussion broke out among his followers. Ah. Futaba was beginning to understand now. “…but its simply more than I can handle.”

           “What about Ann or Haru or Makoto? I bet they’d like some of these, too.” Futaba tried to suppress her laughter at the huffy gasps that came out of Yusuke’s followers as she mentioned each name. As if Yusuke shouldn’t know girls or something! Other than them, the hacker supposed with a snort. “ESPECIALLY Ann. I mean, come on, she loves sweets.”

           “Ann is, ah, busy at the moment.” Yusuke replied hopelessly.

            _Ah right, Ryuji’s nasty chocolate. I hope it didn’t make her bedridden or something…yeesh. He really should’ve just bought some._

           “And Makoto and Haru?” She asked deviously. This was kind of fun, she had to admit. She knew damn well where they were, but she wasn’t about to lose this chance to make fun of the Inari. Not when he had tricked her into coming out in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day just to chase off his fangirls. Not a chance. She was going to sap every ounce out of this that she could.

           “You know very well that Haru booked Destinyland today.” Yusuke sighed, rubbing his temple. “And Makoto went with her.”

           “Probably having a single losers party.” One of the girls jeered. Futaba rolled her eyes; these followers of his were incorrigible. It was easy to see why Yusuke was looking for a way to get away from them. She shook her head. Might as well sap every ounce out of them too.

           “Not quite. More like a ‘lovely ladies for lovely ladies’ party.” Futaba replied easily. The followers exchanged glances. “You gotta be a pretty boss girlfriend to reserve Destinyland for your girlfriend the whole day, am I right, Yusuke? I mean, geez, that’s way better than any chocolate! That’s like, what….ten chocolate cakes? If that!”

           The girl with the cake nearly dropped her dessert as her jaw dropped open.

           “Anyways, I don’t accept second hand chocolate. You’ll have to eat what they gave you on your own. Like a real man.” Futaba stretched upwards. If this was all Yusuke was going to drag her out here for, then she was just about done. Get a few hits in and go; sounded like a pretty satisfactory Valentine’s Day.

           “Ah, right, of course. That was rude of me, I apologize.” Yusuke shifted his backpack off his shoulder to dig through it, placing his art supplies carefully at his feet. Futaba stopped, arms falling back at her sides as the artist produced a small, handwrapped box of various rare sweet Pocari. Marble tea, coconut, almond crush, shiroi monburan, nutcream peanut, all tied together with more common flavors like strawberry and chocolate. Some of them weren’t even available in Tokyo anymore.

           “W-wha…”

           “I heard from Akira that you were fond of these. I’ve got a fondness of them myself, so I spent a few weeks tracking down some of the flavors that I knew any fan of them would appreciate.” Yusuke replied effortlessly; Futaba stared at him blankly, cheeks beginning to burn brightly as he stepped away from the crowd of girls that had been trailing him to guide her away by the shoulder. She didn’t even hazard a glance back at the chattering hens—one could only imagine the death glares she was being fixated with as Yusuke strolled off with the young hacker.

           “You didn’t have to do this. Buy all of these, I mean.” Futaba muttered, popping one of the marble tea pocari into her mouth to suck gently on it. “If you had just told me ahead of time that you were having troubles with this then Sojiro would’ve totally let you wait it out in Leblanc. And I would’ve only kinda teased you.”

           “True. But they would not have gotten the picture if I had just hidden from them. Besides, you would be surprised at how good they are at finding me.” Yusuke managed a pained smile. “But it’s not like I went through all this effort just because I wanted to get rid of them. Please give me more effort than that. If that was all, then I would’ve just bought some cheap dollar store chocolate, not spent all this time gathering these rare brands.”

           “…Oh.”

           “I would like to join you at Leblanc now, though. A good cup of coffee would likely go good with these treats, don’t you think?” Yusuke asked; Futaba was surprised to hear a small trace of uncertainty in his voice.  _Nervousness_ , almost. Against her better judgement, the redhead’s lips curved into a soft smile.

           “It’s a date, Inari.”

 


	10. Yongen-Jaya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> You really should write about Yusuke picking up Futaba in Yongen-Jaya and taking (carrying? dragging?) her all the way to Shibuya. Cause I would read the hell outta that.

           She was not the rambunctious and argumentative girl from a mere week ago.

           Yusuke could slightly understand it. They had spent only a week trying to accumulate a years long shut-in to her greatest fear: the world outside her room, and the people that occupied it. Even then they could only really say they had made mild process with Futaba Sakura. She was still jumpy, scared, and uncomfortable around strangers and large groups in particular. But they needed her at the hideout. Within a mere day she had become what was easily their greatest resource as Phantom Thieves. Besides, she deserved to be part of their group with the efforts she had put forward. Sooner or later, she would have to be brought out to Shibuya.

           Busy, clustered Shibuya.

           And Yusuke Kitagawa didn’t have a car or the money for a taxi.

           In retrospect it had probably been a misguided idea to pick the hacker up and bring her through the train line from Yongen-Jaya to Shibuya, but Yusuke had let out earlier than them and he had figured that she needed to be at the meeting. Now he was regretting it greatly as people whispered around the redhead girl, her face buried in her knees and her back curled into the fetal position against one of the walls of the train. Futaba’s breath came in sharp, jerky huffs. She wasn’t even getting that much room—only the amount that the jammed train would allow as it sped across the tracks.

            _This was a mistake._  Yusuke’s mind echoed desperately while he tried to keep a straight face. He scanned the train quickly; nothing but staring faces and pointing fingers. It was enough for someone WITHOUT a fear of crowds to have a nervous breakdown. For the girl shivering in the corner, who had seemed so wild and self assured previously, it was likely akin to a complete barrage on her senses.

           He kneeled down next to the redhead; she was so small that he easily shadowed her. Her whole body flinched, registering the changing in light through her fingers. Delicately, uncertainly,  _slowly_ , Yusuke reached out and grasped at the headphones slung around her neck. He pushed them over her head and across her ears. Such large earpieces would easily muffle the discussion being thrown around about the girl shaking on the floor. Her fingers drew away from her face slightly; her eyes blinked blearily as they cleared of tears and adjusted to the new light. Slowly Futaba registered the strands of red that had tangled in her hands and the lines across her hand, then looked up.

           Immediately she looked back down.

           Yusuke bit his lip. He had been told before by other students—girls, mostly—that the expression that he usually wore could be a bit intimidating. Taking one hand away from the earphone, he rubbed his own cheeks, as if it would loosen his stern face up a little bit and bring the redhead back into reality. Pinching his own cheek, he pushed fingers underneath Futaba’s chin and lifted her face. The action was met with surprisingly little resistance.

           For a moment she stared. Then, almost without her permission, a small giggle spilled out of Futaba’s lips. It seemed mismatched with her tear streaked, red face but it was very welcomed at the moment. One of her fingers lifted from her knees to take the cheek that Yusuke wasn’t pinching. Lightly, almost teasingly, she pulled at it herself—the artist unconsciously found his eyes softening and a small smile teasing at the side of his lips. She laughed again.

           “Inari has really stiff cheeks.” She commented. One of his eyebrows cocked in irritation but the smile stayed plastered on his face.

           “I told you not to call me that, brat.”

           “Inari, Inari, Inari. No one tells Futaba Sakura what to do.” She was staring pointedly at Yusuke’s stomach—the one place where she could see the least amount of the people behind him. Her tone was defiant but her eyes were still wide with obvious fear. The artist released his own cheek, his hand moving almost on its own to curve around the hacker’s head. He kept his arm at a safe distance while laying firm fingers on the back of her hair to push her head down lightly.

           She blinked in confusion, trying to process everything.

           His mouth was close by her forehead, breath hot on her skin.

           The hand once on her chin was now on the side of her earphone, holding it firmly in place.

           “Do not listen to their words, concentrate on the silence of your earphones. Do not focus on them, focus on me. We don’t get along and I’m not sure if we ever will if you keep calling me INARI…” Futaba stifled another giggle. “…but you know me. Now all I ask is that you focus on me and don’t let them decide on what you do and what you are. You say no one tells Futaba Sakura what to do? I’d say from your sharp tongue and defense of your belonging, that’s true. So don’t let them tell you what to do. After all, why should someone who doesn’t even know you be allowed to have power over you when even I certainly don’t have that power?”

           “My power.” Futaba mumbled quietly, staring down at the white fabric on Yusuke’s school uniform. It looked like a comfortable silk—he went to Kosei, she remembered. Kosei was a special prep school. She really was just trying to think about anything but her situation. And surprisingly, it was working. They didn’t affect her, those people…they didn’t have power over her.

           The train seemed to come to a steady halt right as she was beginning to drift off, enveloped with an unusual and foreign feeling of comfort. Immediately she snapped to attention as the train occupants filed quickly out of the train car into Shibuya Station. Their interest in the girl huddled awkwardly in the corner seemed to wane as soon as they were alert to their schedules again. Quickly the train car emptied as Futaba was brought back to her feet by balancing on Yusuke’s arm. In retrospect she would repaint the scene with her knees not shaking awkwardly as she was led into the station with the large crowd.

           “Would you like to clean up your face before we go meet with everyone?” Yusuke asked quietly, almost sympathetically. Futaba brushed a hand across her face—she could feel the salty lines on her cheek cutting through reddened skin. All she could give was a lame nod as she was led over to a fountain to have her glasses plucked from her face. Yusuke pulled out a pair of small towels from the art kit at his side and Futaba raised a brow.

           “For cleanup after painting.” He explained, wetting the surface lightly and patting the girl’s face. She made a face as the rough surface ran across the sensitive skin, but it took the salty lines away with it. Before she could even touch her face, it was squirted with a burst from the fountain directed by the artist’s thumb followed by a fluffing with the second towel. “You’re lucky I just bought these. Normally they’d be covered with old paint.”

           Futaba was quiet as her face was toweled off, the heat of the train car fading from her face along with the blemished red of the tears. Her glasses were popped back onto her face as soon as the dry towel pulled away; she shifted the bridge of her nose to adjust them over her brown eyes. Her vision took a few moments to focus, finally adjusting in on the image of Yusuke folding up the towels and placing them carefully back in the bag at his side. She shifted her backpack up her back self-consciously.

           “Hey, Ina…Yusuke?”

           “Mmh? You’re going to be calling me by my name from now on?” Yusuke turned to the hacker with a smile on his face. And god did the sincerity in that smile almost kill Futaba right there and then. It took all of her willpower to not slap her hands over her mouth and run like a madwoman. But no. She couldn’t just turn tail and  _run_  from him—from the Phantom Thieves. Not after what they had done for her.

           “D…dream on.” She huffed, pulling out the wrinkles in her shirt and taking a more frustrated tone to cover up how exhilarated and happy he was making her feel. “You’ll always be Inari to me. But! But.”

           “But?”

           “…Thanks, Yusuke.”

           He stared blankly for a moment, then his expression melted into the most sincere smile that Futaba had yet to see from him. And along with it, it felt like her own insides melted with it as the tall boy offered his hand out to the hacker. “I think we should get going. Everyone is going to be waiting for us, aren’t they? Their little Alibaba, was it?”

           “I was thinking more like Oracle.” Futaba wagged her finger in his face. “But hey, they’ll be waiting for their Inari too.”

           “That’s Fox to you.”

           “I’m sure.” She gave an exaggerated wink, slowly regaining her composure as they waded through the crowds of Shibuya Station—all of them now feeling so invisible and inconsequential. “ _Inari_.”


	11. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> Yutaba: he started to realize his feelings for her and then (awkwardly) confessed? 
> 
> Extra note: I wrote this before I got the artbook and found out that apparently Futaba's hair is dyed. Let's pretend it isn't? Ha ha ha....sorry.

           Futaba Sakura pushes her legs together when she’s upset, and holds her hands behind her back when she’s uncomfortable. She hides her face with her hair when she’s sad and looks straight into your eyes when she’s angry with you. She always sits in a cross-legged position with a slight slouch in her back, and when she’s working on computers there is a determined and confidant look in her eye that nobody can distract from. She gives no care to where her hair falls, stands on her toes when she’s feeling too short, and has no filter for telling people what she thinks of them and what they’ve done. There is no mask for Futaba Sakura because she is only what she is.

           Yusuke is an artist—he considers himself a man aware of the now and aware of the actions a person takes. So he notices all these things, the slight way she downcasts her face to hide in curtains of red hair when she’s upset AND the way that her smile spreads devilishly across her face when she’s feeling confident. He takes note of the odd coloration of her eyes. They aren’t quite brown but not really purple, either. Hers are eyes that change with the mood she has. She is a smorgasbord of color, emotion, and activity. There is always a surprise to be had with Futaba Sakura.

           He thinks about this carefully, almost subconsciously, as his fingers drift across the room to focus in on the girl being fawned on by her friends. Makoto, Ann, and Haru have come over to the Sakura dwelling to see Futaba’s newest clothing purchase—and perhaps her most important one in a long time. A uniform for Kosei Academy. Yusuke had no question that the redhead hacker would get into the prestigious school. They would be fools to reject her.

           But he’s not sure that he likes the palette in front of him now.

           Futaba is a girl who dresses wild, looks wild, wears herself on her sleeve. In the starched and stern uniform of Kosei, what is ‘Futaba Sakura’ seems to disappear underneath the school insignia. It is trying to consume everything that she is and make her part of itself. Yusuke is happy to know that Futaba is finally returning to school, though annoyed that she will probably now also be teasing him at the academy, but something seems wrong about such a restrained Futaba. Some men might call it cute. Yusuke finds it unsettling.

           There are no hallmark headphones, no worn black jean shorts, no battered old jacket with a fluffy neckline and odd little shirt. Eccentric and outstanding black boots are replaced with the plain Mary Janes that clack by him every day. There is individuality lost here and all signs of it buried under the seal of Kosei. The only things remaining are the eyes that shift from purple to brown and the burst of red hair.

           And even that may be gone, soon.

           “So they asked you to dye your hair black?” Ann asks. Her tone is almost offended. Yusuke feels a pang of offense himself. “Why? Your hair isn’t dyed now or anything, right?”

           “No.” Futaba sighs. Her head flops to one side and her eyes close in thought. “They said that red hair just stands out too much. Sort of an image ruining thing? I don’t know if I’m gonna actually do it or not yet.”

           Don’t do it, Yusuke’s mind protests. Stay Futaba Sakura.

           “Have they said what they’ll do if you don’t dye it? That’s really worth factoring in, I’m afraid to say.” Makoto muses. One finger taps gently against her sharp chin as she sizes up the young girl in front of her. In her eyes, the artist can see the same concern that is tugging at his own heart; none of the girls here with Futaba want her to have to sacrifice everything that she is. “I know of schools that genuinely will suspend students for infractions of dress code.”

           “That’s disgusting!” Ann exclaims; aside her, Haru nods in grave agreement. Makoto sighs. It is obvious her thoughts are in tandem with theirs but she is more aware that there isn’t much that can be done. All she can do is step forward and straighten Futaba’s tie against the lapels of the Kosei jacket. Somehow the organization of the uniform just makes Yusuke’s stomach curl more.

           He’s not even sure why he cares. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made sacrifices to his personal style when he joined Kosei. Hell, their uniform was more often than not his casual clothes. The shirts were comfortable enough. Perhaps, he unwittingly muses, it isn’t because of myself. Perhaps it is because of Futaba. It feels wrong to do this to Futaba. She is one of the most individual people that Yusuke Kitagawa has ever met and to sacrifice that feels to him like sacrificing a great piece of artwork.

           It clutches at his heart for a moment. Like a great piece of artwork.

           She truly is. Annoying, picky, and a little bit off kilter. But living in a world all her own that they can only hope to reach into, wearing what suits her best and exploring what interests and concerns her the most. Futaba is an individual, as individual as a painting itself. To see her broken down into the most standard of forms is almost insulting. Yusuke lowers his fingers, his gaze hardened.

           “It isn’t of concern. Don’t dye yourself, Futaba.”

           The girls give him an odd look. Futaba in particular. This is likely unexpected for them—he had mostly just come along because he was a Kosei student. None of them likely had expected such a strong objection from him. Yusuke considers this to be fair; he didn’t particularly expect such a strong objection from himself either. But here, looking at Futaba dulled down into the drab Kosei colors and restraining uniform, he can only feel protest rising in his throat. This is not the Futaba Sakura he knows.

            _This is not the Futaba Sakura he loves._

           He halts for a minutes, eyes wide as the girls wait for a response from him. Yet he only stares blankly at his feet. The Futaba Sakura he loves. It was like he was being slapped in the face, for he hadn’t been expecting such a revelation. He taps his foot thoughtfully, scratching his head while staring out the window that he could barely see behind the heavy blockout screens. They were wearing out, he supposes, and he was definitely distracting himself from the topic.

           “You should not just give them what they want, Futaba. There’s no suspension at Kosei for dress code infractions unless they are severe…so stay with your red hair. Don’t make yourself someone you aren’t.” He hesitates; the girls zero in on him more. “…Stay the girl that we, I, the Phantom Thieves…like.”

           Silence. Then the girls go back to their wild chattering, supporting Yusuke’s words as he sinks shamefully into the chair behind him. He can feel Futaba’s eyes on him—her smart, smart eyes inspecting him carefully. Even if Makoto, Ann, and Haru may have missed the implication…

           Futaba Sakura had not.

           And if Yusuke had bothered to lift his head and face the girls in front of him, he would’ve seen that his ‘confession’ was accepted with bright red cheeks and a bitten lip.

 


	12. Father and Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt-  
> Sojiro is about to cry (he cries anyway) when he walks Futaba down the aisle on her wedding day. Happy early Father's Day for awesome dads everywhere!

           Sojiro Sakura considered himself a simple man. He did his best to stay out of trouble with the law, out of conflict in general, and was best satiated with a cup of prime brewed coffee and a book. For many years it was what he had grown comfortable with; he was happy with his little café, his books, and the chatter of his customers. It seemed like that one ideal step down from perfection. Sheer comfort with just a fair enough blend of trouble now and then. In many ways his life had been something akin to a perfect cup of coffee. Rich, smooth, slow, and with a small spice that kept him going.

           And then he was suddenly a father.

           He was not normally what he considered to be a ‘man of action’ but Futaba Isshiki had been the daughter of his dear friend, a woman so precious to him that it tore at his heart. In a way he felt guilty for ignoring the fiasco that occurred after Wakaba’s death. Seeing that delicate and frail child cowering in the corner, sitting on old newspapers with wrappers of ten cent ramen strewn around her…that had caused him to act for once. To make Futaba Isshiki come away from that pain and become his daughter. To become Futaba Sakura.

           But Sojiro Sakura wasn’t a father, he knew that. He wasn’t even sure if he could handle a regular child with all their energy and eccentricities, much less the young redhead girl who could barely stand socialization and would almost never leave her room. But he found himself doing it anyways—taking her from that man’s house, giving her a bath to clean the filth out of her hair, preparing some of Wakaba’s old curry for her to eagerly shovel down as if she hadn’t eaten for weeks. And knowing her uncle, she probably hadn’t.

           He wasn’t sure if it was permanent, or even if he intended it to be. But it became so and Futaba became less his ‘charge’ and more his daughter. In a way that was reward enough in itself—to watch her pull out of her darkness and live up to her full potential also tugged at his out of use heartstrings. It brought a crinkled smile to his aging face. It brought an unprecedented joy to his life. She came so far. From the very bottom of the dredges to where she was now. A professional unprecedented in her own field…and adorning layer after layer of white silk on a pure wedding dress.

           He wasn’t sure how an actual blood father was supposed to feel now. He certainly felt conflicted; Futaba Sakura had been given and taken all her life and in a way Sojiro had always thought he would be the last one to guard the young girl. It almost seemed silly now. Looking at the twenty-five year old daughter of Wakaba, he could see in her eyes that she had grown far beyond needing to be guarded. Instead a smile spread on powder pink lips while her eyes danced. It seemed almost as if she could barely hold still as the blonde model behind her finished tying up her hair, bidding her adieu as she hastily made way to stand aside the other two girls at the altar.

           Futaba gleamed in the light of the setting sun as she offered her arm to her caretaker. Sojiro shook out of his thoughts and looped his arm around his daughter’s to walk proudly into the sun. His chest was aching and he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was panic; maybe it was something he ate. Or maybe he was just lying to himself and it was the feeling of his heart swelling with pride at his beautiful adopted daughter walking down the aisle. The white suited groom tore off his chat with Akira as soon as the pair stepped into the light.

           The vows were like a blur to Sojiro; he simply stood there aside Akira taking in how far his child had come. HIS child. Perhaps not from him, but the child that he wouldn’t give to anyone else and the child that he wouldn’t let get hurt for any cost. Futaba was both his precious memory of her mother and a precious statement for how much he realized he could still care for people like this. Having a family, he had realized some years ago, was a fine thing even if it didn’t consist of a mother and a father and a biological child. This beacon of light was more than enough to fill him with pride no matter if she shared all of blood or none of it.

           Futaba Sakura, starting off Futaba Isshiki, becoming Futaba Kitagawa.

           He had laid into the boy when he found out that Yusuke Kitagawa was dating his daughter. At first he considered the artist to be too weird, too unreliable, too bizarre. It seemed, though, that Yusuke was willing to fight up against any perceptions that Sojiro had of him—and really, at the heart of it, Sojiro couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for all of those kids that Akira Kusuru had brought into his life. In a way, the eccentric artist was an idea for the eccentric computer expert. They were the extremes of two very different worlds coming together.

           He was still sure to catch the dark haired boy’s eyes and give him a warning, but understanding, look before Yusuke locked lips with the redhead bride. The flurry afterwards made everything blurry. Midway the kiss Futaba threw her bouquet roughly into the blonde bridesmaid aside her, which elicited a lot of hooting and jeering and stuttering of denial that Sojiro didn’t quite understand (but he figured may have to do with the black box he saw the delinquent blonde boy clambering at the previous day). And there was laughter.

           And that was enough, he figured. It hurt to not be her ‘guardian’ anymore but somehow he knew he would be anyways. Because he was not just a guardian, he was a father. And with the redhead girl spinning in joy in her husband’s arms, laughing delightedly, Sojiro Sakura could at least say that he had succeeded at being both a guardian and a father. Because Futaba Sakura was happy.

           Sojiro sighed quietly as the two rushed down the aisle with their friends in quick tow. He was hoping there would be a nice blend of coffee at the afterparty. With all this excitement and torch-passing…he was beginning to think he was going to need something simple to follow it up with.


	13. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I was playing P5 and getting hit with despair and having my party members take off and I was thinking, who goes and gets them? And then it hit me. Who has the fastest way of finding and getting party members? FUTABA. So I was wondering, could you please do a fic of Futaba going to get a 'despairing' Yusuke?

“I cannot freakin’ believe this.”

Her fingers flew rapidly across the projected keyboards within the Persona around her; maps flew up rapid fire followed by a loud negative beeping noise. Futaba bit down on her pink bottom lip and tried to resist swearing under her breath. Mementos was an always changing palette and the navigator was presented with a whole new line of twisting hallways to explore. Usually these discoveries were fairly interesting—like a puzzle box that changed its pieces every time you put it away—but she didn’t have time for discoveries right now.

Mementos was dangerous for a single person on their own.

Futaba let out the swears she had been holding back. Where could’ve he gone? They had all been in a standard, by the books battle against some yawn inducing shadows. The redhead had barely been paying attention when one of them threw back their head to let out a screech of pain; even in her safespot behind Necronomicon’s walls, she had pitched forward in a fit to block the sound out. Below the floating Persona, her allies nearly were knocked back by the sound—a sound so dreadful that it seemed to be affecting their very wellbeing.

It had been a blur after that but they had won. But, to everyone’s dismay, after a headcount they had realized they were missing some people. Ryuji was found nearby hunched up and muttering to himself about track, while Morgana lolled around by the entrance staring blankly at the ceiling with lidded eyes. The shriek had plunged them both into a deep despair. Makoto was left to take care of two while the Thieves nervously puzzled over their final missing member.

Yusuke was nowhere to be seen.

Futaba grit her teeth.

Where could the tall boy have even run off to? Ryuji and Morgana had basically just gotten a few steps away then collapsed to mope to themselves. It didn’t seem like anyone could get too far from their assailant while under the curse of despair, yet Yusuke seemed to evade them completely. She was almost beginning to worry that the Fox had retired to another floor—and in that state, he couldn’t be trusted to make the right decision about which direction to go.

Hesitantly she closed her eyes, holding her arms out. Her fingers carefully grazed the glowing boards in front of her fingers, flashes of green light running across her goggles and down her entire bodysuit. From where she was it going to be difficult to get any idea of the layout of another floor in Mementos. But if there was a conscious, human energy above or below them that was strong enough to be a member of the Phantom Thieves…

A pulse of energy rang back at her. It was weak, and soiled, but it was there. Not below or above them but right at the exit. Within moments the oversized Persona smashed through the doors to the exit, docking to allow the redhead girl to leave its safe confines. Carefully, quietly, as to not disturb the boy sitting in the corner by the exit, she crept forward across the rails and over the dark tiles. Though her body knelt at his side, the redhead’s eyes stayed locked at the flurry of black strewn across the walls in abstract circles and sharp zigzags. A spur of the moment mural accented with sporadic splashes of red trickling down the hard stone.

The battered, bleeding hands hanging off the edge of his knees told Futaba how that eerie little touch had been not quite intentional.

“It got you, huh.” She whispered, not moving as she finally tore her eyes away from the macabre mural to face the dark haired boy. Thin trails of blood dripped down his face to collect at his chin, and down his wounded arm to gather at the tip of his nails. Despite looking at the redhead, Yusuke’s eyes seemed distant and faded as his form hunched forward into itself. He only gave an oblique, almost uncaring look at his hands, before they fell to balance weakly against his knees again.

He didn’t even seem like he was in the same room with her.

“Yusuke, you need to get that healed—” She tried but he shook his head. It was slow and methodical, as if he had anticipated the reaction.

“In my folly I pursued her shadow.”

“What?” Futaba cocked her head to the side. Yusuke reached out and carefully drew the face of a woman, traditional and well dressed, in the dark red that ran down his arm and onto his fingers. The woman who hovered over the baby with love in her eyes painted in precise strokes—it hung in LeBlanc, now. “The Sayuri…”

“My inspiration is gone. My direction is meaningless. And I destroyed it.” His hand dropped to his side. “I will never be her.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It is the truth.”

“Well yeah, duh it’s the truth.” Futaba rolled her eyes as the artist looked up to her. Curiosity was flickering through the spell lingering over his being. “Of course you’ll never be her. Isn’t art about being, I dunno, you? Why would you paint something to be something that you aren’t when you can paint something you are?”

“But her greatness—”

“What ABOUT it?” Futaba stuck her tongue out obstinately. Yusuke’s form seemed to straighten, pushing forward as he regarded her as if she were some sort of alien being. She shrugged it off easily; Yusuke had a weird way of looking at everyone, really. “She’s her and you’re you. Nothing ain’t gonna change that. You think too much, you know that?”

“I most certainly do NOT!” Yusuke snapped, back, the distance in his eyes fading quickly. “I think just the right amount.”

“If it’s just the right amount then you don’t have anything to be sad about, then.”

Yusuke paused. His eyes were clear, and his stance was firm.

Futaba grinned. That big, toothy, ‘I gotcha’ grin.

In Mementos, she was their guide. And so in Mementos and Mementos alone, she could see through their veil and goad them out of their distractions. Yusuke Kitagawa, it so happened, was just extraordinarily easy to goad. And it was simply just that much more fun to goad him—Futaba generally told herself to not look too deep into that thought in this silent but comfortable moment. And she told herself stanchly that the boy across from her, staring at her as if inspecting her and evaluating her, was thinking the same.

She was surprised, then, when he took her hands and hauled both of them upwards to their feet. It was awkward, standing toe to toe with another person, and Futaba had to control the innate urge to bolt. Even before she had developed her social phobia she had not stood this closely to a person before. They were nearly chest to chest, standing against the exit as the heavy winds threaded through their hair and pulled it away from them. Behind Yusuke’s mask she could see his momentarily empty and despair-ridden eyes return to observant and focused steely grey.

It was weird. So weird being that close. With a start she realized that she hadn’t even bothered to jerk her hands away from his. Instead they lay enveloped in his larger ones. They were firm, she noted, and could hold her in place if they wanted to. But they were also gentle and precise. Everything that one would expect of an artist’s hands combined with the strength of a fighter.

Her mind ground to a halt.

I came to get HIM and cheer HIM up, not the other way around!

With that thought she hastily jerked her hands free of the tall boy’s.

“Makoto’s waiting. You seem like its worn off a bit…” Futaba wouldn’t even look at her fellow Thief, eyes on the ground and face as red as her hair. “…but she should probably give you an Energy Shower. Just to be sure, you know.”

As she felt Yusuke’s eyes burning into her back the whole way back, she was starting to wonder if she couldn’t do with a fixer upper spell herself.


End file.
